


One Woman Gal

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-02-07
Packaged: 2019-04-20 18:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Rachel thinks her apartment is haunted and moves which results in Quinn and Rachel moving in together, and then getting married. It’s sappy fluff in time for Valentine’s Day.





	One Woman Gal

**Title:** One Woman Gal  
**Author:** Sulkygeek  
**Rating:** R  
**Length:** 8859  
**Spoilers:** Through this current season  
**Summary:** In which Rachel thinks her apartment is haunted and moves which results in Quinn and Rachel moving in together, and then getting married. It’s sappy fluff in time for Valentine’s Day.

\--

* * *

 

**_Moving in_ **

Generally speaking, Rachel was pretty methodical and liked to think things out. After all, she was still the only five year old Quinn knew of who’d made a twenty year plan for herself. At twenty-three, Rachel was actually well on her way to achieving that twenty year plan which included a healthy, loving relationship, a New York City apartment and a substantial career. She paid her bills on time-- often the moment she received them, but reliably at least two and half weeks before they were due. Her landlords loved her because her rent was _early_ , not just on time. Decisions were made after carefully weighing options and creating a pro and con list. Very frequently, Venn diagrams, flow charts and Microsoft Excel were employed to assist in the decision-making process. She was extremely fastidious, to the degree it frequently annoyed the living shit out of Quinn.

But when Rachel got an idea into her head and got dead-set on it, there was no changing her mind-- no pro and con list, no Venn diagram, no Microsoft Excel spreadsheet. Even when this idea went against her own best interest, even when it was ridiculous, fool-hardy, unnecessarily painful or just flat-out _unnecessary_ , once Rachel set her mind to do it, she just did it. It was rare, because Rachel was nothing if not a planner, but it happened.

Quinn dropped by Rachel’s apartment unannounced one evening after work, thinking it would be a nice surprise for her pint-sized girlfriend whom she hadn’t seen in two days due to hectic and conflicting work schedules. She knocked on the door and then pounded, but there was no response.

She dug for her phone, cursing the ridiculous brown Coach purse she bought at the Camarillo outlets while visiting Santana and Brittany in California a few years ago before two of her best friends finally just moved out to New York. The leather was stiff and made it difficult for her to dig through her purse, and as with many women, Quinn carted around half her life in her purse. She felt around her purse, her make-up bag, iPod, travel hair brush, travel sized lint roller, digital camera, Tide stick and then inwardly cursed Rachel because Rachel had turned her into the sort of person that carried things around simply in case of emergency. She found her phone and made an embarrassingly loud triumphant squeak and pulled it out, dialing Rachel on speed dial (number 2, number 1 being voicemail).

“Where the hell are you?” Quinn demanded.

Rachel was unfazed. “I love you, too, darling,” she drawled in a Southern twang which she was practicing for some guest spot on a television show that she was auditioning for-- she started out sounding like a cowboy, but currently sounded believably Southern belle. It was deeply disconcerting to see her Midwestern girlfriend sound like Scarlett O’Hara or something.

“Where the hell are you?” Quinn demanded again.

“At home.”

“Then open the door!”

Rachel sounded guilty. “You’re at my apartment?”

“Duh, Rach.”

“I moved.”

“What?!”

“I moved.”

“Again?! When?!” Quinn demanded.

Rachel just moved into this apartment two weeks ago. This was ridiculous.

“Two days ago.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Quinn demanded. “Because this is a really shitty, really crappy, really cowardly way to--”

“It was haunted!” Rachel burst out. “So I had to move again. But my new apartment is much better. It has huge windows, hardwood floors, secured access, subterranean parking and--”

“Wait,” Quinn said. “Did you just say it was haunted?”

“Yes,” Rachel said, impatiently. “You know, as in ‘wooooo’ ghosts and Casper and such. Although I believe what I had falls more in line with the poltergeist category, though my research indicates those types of spirits tend to haunt homes with pubescent teenagers and I would hardly fall into that category. Still, I truly believe the apartment at which you are currently standing is haunted.”

Quinn paused for a moment as she absorbed the entire ramble and then laughed so hard she had to sit down. “ _Haunted?!_ ” she repeated, sputtering. She was still so amused, she could hardly catch a breath. She was literally going to die of laughter-- even her stomach hurt.

“I knew you would be simultaneously dismissive and mocking.” Rachel said stiffly.

Quinn just continued to laugh.

“Quinn!”

It took her a few minutes, but Quinn finally calmed down enough to speak. So,” Quinn said, trying to keep her voice calm and neutral. “Did you see a ghost?”

“Quinn!”

“What?” Quinn asked. “You said your apartment is haunted, so it’s reasonable to ask if you’ve seen a ghost. What did he look like? Did he still look human or did he look like he had a sheet over his head? Was he cute? Was he a newer ghost? Or did he look like he could be in one of those old timey photographs? What are those called? Dog somethings?”

“Daguerreotypes. And Quinn! Stop mocking me.”

“What?” Quinn asked innocently, as she continued to try not to laugh. “It’s a very reasonable question!”

“He did not appear to me, but that does not mean he did not make his presence known,” Rachel huffed.

Quinn was _dying_ , because she was trying _so_ hard not to laugh, but it was so hard to resist. She covered her mouth with her hand trying to contain her laugher, like she could cram it back in. But she couldn’t help it. It bubbled up and burst out in a boisterous laugh that echoed through the hall.

Neighbors opened their doors to check and found Quinn sitting on the floor, laughing so hard she was slapping the ground with her left foot _and_ left hand. She composed herself enough to stand up, but once she did, she started laughing again and had to sit down.

Rachel was very clearly miffed. Quinn knew this because these were the next words out of her mouth:

“Quinn Fabray, I am very miffed by your continued expression of amusement over my very real problem of living in a dwelling which is haunted. I am somewhat psychic and therefore very in tune with the paranormal and I am telling you, that home was haunted and I’m very mad with you for laughing at me!”

Quinn managed to suck in a few breaths. “I’m sorry for laughing, baby,” she said very sincerely. She bit her lip. “Can you please tell me where you are living now so that I can come over? I really want o see you.”

“Quinn! That is so sweet of you! Of course I will tell you.”

Rachel rattled on for a few more moments about how sweet Quinn was to be so affectionate before she finally gave Quinn the address. Quinn didn’t mind the rambling because Rachel sounded cute doing it and it also gave Quinn time to find a pen and scrap of paper.

Once Rachel gave her the address, Quinn grinned. “See you soon, baby. I’ll try not to bring the ghost with me.”

The last thing Quinn heard was Rachel’s little squeak of outrage before Quinn ended the call.

\--

She contemplated showing up at Rachel’s door wearing a white sheet with two holes poked for eyes, but she didn’t want to be confused as being a member of the KKK and anyway, that would take too much time. She just wanted to see her girl.

She showed up at Rachel’s door in ten minutes and grinned when the door opened and she was pulled inside by Rachel.

“You didn’t feel any weird presences, did you?”

“The only weird presence in my life is you.”

Rachel scowled. “This is very serious, Quinn!”

Quinn smirked. “No, baby. This is ridiculous. What would make you think your apartment was haunted?”

“I was hearing weird noises, things were disappearing and I’d catch glimpses of things out of my peripheral vision! It was haunted!”

Quinn bit her lower lip to prevent herself from laughing because that wasn’t the logical leap she would have made if she’d experienced the same thing. But then again, Rachel Berry was…a little unusual.

“Okay, baby,” Quinn soothed. “I can…well, I can fathom how you might come to believe the apartment was haunted,” she said.

Rachel looked at her. “Really?”

No. But Quinn said yes anyway.

Rachel eyed her with suspicion but grinned. “I know you are merely patronizing me, but I appreciate it.”

Quinn chuckled. “I’m not saying it didn’t happen though, baby. But you’re probably just a nut.”

“Sometimes you feel like a nut,” Rachel sang softly to the tune of the Almond Joy/Mounds advertisements.

“Sometimes you are,” Quinn sang back.

Rachel glared at her and rolled her eyes. Then Rachel cocked her head to the left and regarded Quinn curiously. “Why did you assume I was breaking up with you when you found my vacant apartment?” she asked.

Quinn shrugged. “You left without telling me,” she said simply. “What else was I supposed to think?”

She felt pretty silly for being a twenty four year old woman who still struggled with parental abandonment issues, and she felt like a total emo loser for thinking ‘people always leave,’ but she couldn’t help herself. She’d really felt like Rachel had moved to get away from her and it left her feeling desolated, even if it had only been for a moment before Rachel started in about all this ridiculousness about a ghost.

Rachel smiled at her and wrapped her arms around Quinn’s waist. “I think you were just supposed to assume I was off on one of my silly missions.”

Quinn chuckled and threaded her fingers through Rachel’s hair. “I wouldn’t say they were silly,” she murmured.

Rachel laughed. She kissed Quinn on the lips, licking her tongue across Quinn’s lower lip. “Don’t you know leaving you would ruin my fifty year plan?”

“Oh, it’s a fifty year plan now?” Quinn teased.

“Of course it is,” Rachel said. “I’ve had to factor in children, grandchildren and potential great grandchildren. You’re there, you know.”

“Am I?” Quinn drawled.

“Do you need to see my charts and graphs? There around here somewhere. I haven’t unpacked fully yet, as you can see.”

“I trust you,” Quinn murmured.

Rachel swallowed hard. “Your lease is up next month.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you…” Rachel swallowed hard again and suddenly seemed nervous. “I mean, cohabitation is a financially very sound idea, though I realize it has other considerations such as compatibility. However, we do seem very compatible, though I realize living together is different from dating. But I think if we are incompatible in terms of cohabitation, that is something we ought to discover now and--”

“Rachel, what is it exactly that you’re asking me?”

“Would you consider…I mean…would you mind thinking about moving in with me? This is a very spacious apartment and while it’s only one bedroom, I assure you, it’s _very_ spacious and thus you will have your own space if I were to annoy you or you’d wish for some time away from me.”

Quinn thought about it for a moment. “Okay,” she said simply.

Rachel stared dumbly at her. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“That’s it?”

Quinn stared at her. “Okay, I’ll move in with you?”

“I spent five hours thinking of a way to ask you to move in with me and you just respond with ‘okay’?”

“You spent five hours on _that_? It sounded like you just pulled it out of your ass to be honest.”

“I got flustered and nervous! I deviated from script!”

Quinn snorted. “No kidding.”

“Don’t shame and mock me,” Rachel snapped, half whining.

“Well, ask me the way you prepared it.”

“No, you’ve ruined the moment with your simultaneously disparaging and nonchalant attitude.”

“Please?”

“No,” Rachel pouted.

“Please.”

“No,” Rachel said petulantly, crossing her arms in the ultimate stubborn you’re-not-the-boss-of-me pose.

“Please?”

“No.”

“We can have sex afterward.”

“We’ll probably have sex anyway, regardless of me asking you again in the manner in which I intended. You’re very demanding and you seem to have an unreasonable expectation of me in this arena which I obviously find suitable because my sex drive is higher than the average per--”

“Your sex drive is higher than the average rabbit, sweetheart,” Quinn said.

“Rabbits really don’t have sex that much, they’re just very fertile and are very social creatures.”

“Stop it with the nature shows, okay?”

“They’re very interesting, Quinn,” Rachel huffed.

“Will you just ask me the way you intended?!”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“You were very judgmental about the way I asked the first time.”

“I’m very sorry about that. Will you please just ask me again? I _promise_ to make it worth it for you.”

Rachel looked at her dubiously.

Quinn looked back at her and smile. She reached out to cup Rachel’s cheek. “Take a chance on me. Gonna do my very best, it ain’t no lie. If you put me to the test, and you let me try,” she sang.

Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed. “You know I can’t resist you when you quote ABBA lyrics, baby.” She reached into her pocket for her crib notes, pausing to look warningly at Quinn who’d opened her mouth to comment, scanned her notes, took a deep breath, scanned her notes again and then stuck the paper back into her pocket. “Quinn, you and I have been dating for a substantial period of time-- long enough to convince me, and I hope you, that I am in this for the long haul and though I understand there are merits to our continued separate living situations, we spend more of our nights together than apart. You are an integral part of my life plan and I don’t like those mornings I wake up without you. It simply feels like a poor way to start the day. Though I understand you are not a magical good luck charm, and you can’t ensure that every day will be a good day, I know that any day I wake up beside you will be better than a day in which I wake up alone. And so, if I promise to make you breakfast as frequently as possible on the weekdays and brunch on the weekends, and if I swear to keep the morning vocal exercises to a minimum, and if I assure you I will do my best _not_ to annoy you as I am wont to do, will you please consider moving in with me?”

Quinn swallowed hard before answering. “Okay,” she said thickly.

“Quinn!!”

Quinn laughed and wiped at her eyes, embarrassed Rachel actually made her _cry_. But her girl was painfully sincere and there weren’t many people in her life who were that sincere. “I don’t have anything else to say to that,” Quinn confessed. “I want to move in with you. And you don’t have promise me anything. Of course I’ll move in with you. And I promise I’ll be good to you, Rach. You don’t have to be anyone other than you, you don’t have to change. Just be the way you’ve always been and we’ll be okay.”

Rachel beamed at her. “That was a much more appropriate answer than ‘okay.’”  
  
Quinn rolled her eyes. She loved this girl a little too much for her own comfort, but she really didn’t mind the way she thought she would.

\--

Rachel didn’t bother unpacking her stuff. Though it made her teeth _itch_ , she decided to wait until Quinn moved in to unpack to truly make the apartment _theirs_. It was important to her that they started ‘fresh’ and they made mutual decisions about what pieces of furniture to keep and what to sell on Craigslist. Some of their furniture matched, some of it obviously clashed and while both Quinn and Rachel would have preferred something more cohesively thematic in their furniture layout, it wasn’t so bad combining the best pieces from each of their furniture collection. They moved things around, giggling and stumbling. As a consequence, Quinn was moved into the apartment at least two weeks before it was really official.

Every box, every item Rachel helped Quinn lug in made Rachel feel like things were a little more settled. They giggled as they hauled the boxes inside and smiled at one another in triumph when they were able to agree upon the final set of the décor.

Rachel turned to Quinn when they were finally settled in. She wrapped her arms around the blonde’s waist and pressed her forehead into Quinn’s neck-- their height difference was more pronounced because they were both barefoot. The blonde’s arms immediately wrapped around Rachel’s waist in response and they began to sway together.

“Hello, roomie,” Rachel murmured, nuzzling Quinn’s neck.

“Hi, roomie,” Quinn replied quietly, smiling and running a hand through Rachel’s hair.

They shared a soft laugh. A song came on the iPod shuffle as it played through the speakers on the docking station and Rachel softly sang along.

“Ooh baby, I love your way. I want to tell you I love your way. Want to be with you night and day.”

Quinn laughed gently. “I love that song.”

“Me too,” Rachel murmured. “But then again, who doesn’t love cheesy love songs?”

“Hmm,” Quinn hummed. “I think you’re overestimating their appeal,” she joked.

Rachel gently swatted Quinn’s butt. “Quinn,” she chided, with a grin.

“What? I think you are,” Quinn grinned. “Prove me wrong?” she asked, tilting her head to the right and stepping backward. She took Rachel by the hand and smiled impishly.

Rachel beamed and allowed herself to be pulled toward the bedroom.

\--

_Getting engaged_

They’d lived together for three months when Quinn became certain that it’d definitely been the right move to make. Rachel believed in and had faith in nothing but herself. She rejected the notion of an absolute truth, claiming everything was relative. Quinn had grown up believing everything her parents told her, had faith in God, her family and the belief that everything was okay and always felt the truth came in shades of black and white, not grey. But somehow, Rachel, with all her godless heathenness was the one who had no doubts when it came to the two of them and Quinn was the one who couldn’t quite allow herself to just have faith.

She didn’t have to live very long with Rachel, however, to know they could make it. It wasn’t earth-shattering news or anything. They’d practically lived together before they moved in together anyway because they spent so much time with one another. And in all honesty, there was no moment in their cohabitation where she looked at Rachel and felt like her heart would explode with love because Quinn routinely felt that way. It was more a totality of their circumstances and it was ridiculously practical and pretty banal. Rachel would likely be outraged by the absence of poetry and romance in how Quinn came to be so confident in their potential for longevity.

Sometimes, Quinn came home from work with a hankering for something ridiculously specific like asparagus or jelly beans or rocky road ice cream (usually not all at the same time) and found Rachel went grocery shopping before she came home and had either purchased the item Quinn was craving or something similar which could satisfy it. Sometimes, Quinn truly believed Rachel was more than just a little psychic.

They were just compatible, and even the ways in which they weren’t compatible were either tolerable or negligible. She could easily picture herself going on this way with Rachel for the rest of their lives and she started thinking about the children they both wanted, just not yet, and soon these imaginary children started to have names and faces. She started thinking about the first house she and Rachel would buy together, the family vacations they would take their children on, the fights she and Rachel would inevitably have over infant baptisms. She could picture the two of them sniping and squabbling at one another into an incontinent dotage.

What Quinn wanted more than anything else was a future with Rachel and they could take it day by day.

Rachel had a cold one day in which she sneezed _right_ in Quinn’s face. It’d been disgusting and still that didn’t diminish the love Quinn felt for Rachel. The girl was benignly insane and Quinn knew she was pathetically in love when Rachel was a sneezy, wheezy, congested, whiny, gross mess who insisted on sleeping on the couch to avoid getting Quinn sick and Quinn still wanted to go to sleep beside her because their bed felt too big and too lonely without Rachel.

Sometimes, the _world_ just seemed too big and scary-- it kind of was, wasn’t it? But there was something steady, comforting and safe about the presence of her pint-sized girlfriend whose voice and personality took up more space than her body did. Something about having Rachel sing, sleep, lecture, rant, whine and laugh made the world seem not quite so large and a whole lot less scary and she couldn’t imagine not waking up to Rachel doing her vocal exercises in the shower so as to not disturb her and going to sleep to the sound of Rachel’s soft breaths as the brunette tried to fall asleep. Quinn always seemed to fall asleep before Rachel, whose presence made Quinn feel confident about her place in the world.

When she thought about how to ask Rachel to marry her, she went through a variety of ostentatious options (sky writing, hot air balloon ride, newspaper ad, utilizing the NASDAQ screen downtown, scavenger hunt, proposal via radio station and the good-ole ring-in-the-champagne flute). After all, Rachel had a flair for the dramatic.

But they weren’t like that as a couple-- when it was just the two of them together, they were low-key and mellow. And really, as much as Rachel enjoyed things that were showy and ornate, when it was just the two of them, it wasn’t “shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,” it was “I just love you, stupid.”

And so, one night, when the ring box had burned a hole in Quinn’s soul for five weeks, she decided to just ask-- no muss, no fuss.

It was a Saturday morning which was Rachel’s day where she liked to be as unclothed as possible. Quinn really enjoyed Saturdays. Rachel wore nothing but a navy blue Pretenders concert t-shirt and a pair of dark red boyshorts that improbably had the words “HEY” emblazoned on the butt in loud black font. Every time Rachel wore those around the apartment, Quinn couldn’t resist smacking Rachel on the ass and exclaiming “HEY!” to which Rachel always rolled her eyes and good-naturedly complained “you _always_ do that!”

Quinn came across Rachel standing on her tip-toes, straining to grab the flyswatter from the top of the refrigerator. Chuckling, Quinn stood behind Rachel, placed one hand on Rachel’s back, reached up and grabbed the green flyswatter and passed it to Rachel.

“Go kill some bugs, baby.”

Rachel grinned. “I’m going to kill that annoying little fly.”

“You’re an annoying little fly, but I keep you around.”

Rachel scowled and waved the flyswatter warningly. “I’ll swat _you_ , if you aren’t careful.”

Quinn followed Rachel from room to room as Rachel tried valiantly, but in vain, to kill the fly that had menaced them for two days with its loud buzzing. The fly was unnaturally large and therefore louder than the average fly and for the past two nights, Rachel had intermittently woken up from a dead slumber to roll out of bed and take off after the fly, shrieking. Quinn had been amused by the whole thing because she simply could not understand how someone as loud as Rachel would be able to hear a fly buzzing in the room whilst dead asleep. But it was not for Quinn to judge.

She watched Rachel for ten minutes trying to kill that buzzing, sprightly fly before Rachel finally growled in frustration, stalked back to the kitchen and threw the flyswatter on top of the refrigerator, which would inevitably make it more difficult the next time Rachel needed to get it (likely within the next hour).

Rachel stomped to the sink and pulled off the silver good-luck ring she wore on her left ring finger and set it beside the sink. It was slightly too large and it had a tendency to slip off.

Rachel vigorously washed her hands, all the while muttering under her breath about what possible evolutionary purpose the common fruit fly could serve (‘fuck you, Drosophila melanogaster’ figured in several times during her rant). Quinn was utterly amused and she watched as Rachel dried her hands and reached for her ring to put it back on.

“Wait,” Quinn said quietly.

Rachel stopped and looked at her, her hand frozen mid-reach. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got a question for you.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Does it have to do with swatting flies? Because to be frank with you, Quinn, I’m not certain I’m the person to consult with in that matter.”

Quinn snorted. “No, that’s not it. Stop ruining the moment.”

Rachel looked bewildered. “What moment am I ruining? I was merely trying to swat the fly that has been harassing us for several days before I have to disinfect the entire apartment.”

Quinn sighed. Why did she want to marry this girl again?

Rachel grinned at her. “After all, I can’t allow a fly to mar our perfect life here and you know flies basically defecate everywhere they land. You _eat_ here. You _sleep_ here. You live here. It’s not just a matter of principle, it’s a matter of cleanliness. I am doing this for you.”

Quinn grinned. Oh, yeah. Now she remembered why she wanted to marry this girl. Rachel was a crazy person, but she was Quinn’s crazy person. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Does it have to do with math?”

Quinn blinked. “Why would I ask you a math question?”

“Because when you get that look on your face, you usually ask me ‘how much tip should we leave?’ or ‘does the gas bill look right to you this month?’ or on one occasion, ‘what’s 36 times 41?’ So I don’t feel it’s unreasonable to clarify, so that I can at least get a calculator.”

“It’s not about math!”

“Well, you don’t have to yell.”

Quinn wanted to sigh, cry, sing, laugh, kiss and fuck Rachel all at the same time. She can’t believe something as simple as a proposal (she has to laugh at herself for this thought, because, _hello_ , she’d agonized over how to ask for months and now she’d possessed the ring for five weeks trying to suss out a proper way to ask) now turned into _this_ spectacle, even if it was an ordinary sort of spectacle at their home and would have been considered totally normal on any other night.

“Woman, listen up--”

“’Woman, listen up’?” Rachel repeated with a squeak. “Have you been playing videogames over the internet with Artie again? Because really, baby, we’ve talked about this, and I don’t like being a World of Warcraft widow.”

Quinn grinned. It seemed almost like an invitation to ask for Rachel’s hand in marriage. “So if I were to meet some untimely end, you would be my widow?”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Why does it have to be ‘untimely’? Why can’t it be peacefully and completely timely when you’re 122 years old?”

“I don’t want to live that long. I probably won’t even be able to wipe my own--” Quinn trailed off. Now _she_ was getting completely off track. “Okay, fine. So say that I meet some _timely_ end, would you want to be my widow?”

Rachel bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “That’s assuming I outlive you. And although you are eight months older than I am, that really does not make much of a difference in terms of life span. Though I know I exercise more than you do and certainly my diet it better because of your ongoing devotion to bacon, it is possible, though unlikely that you would outlive me, thus making _you_ my widow.” Rachel grinned at her and looked positively triumphant.

This conversation was becoming ridiculous and now Quinn had this totally new fear on her list of fears-- the fear of Rachel dying before her and leaving her alone. Although, then again, she was also afraid of dying before Rachel and leaving Rachel alone. Well, they’d just have to die at the same time. And that was that.

But Quinn was utterly mortified when she realized she’d just said all that noise _out loud_.

Rachel looked amused, her lips turned up in a grin and slightly parted to show off blindingly white teeth in a silent laugh. Her eyes crinkled when she looked at Quinn and she stood with her hands on her hips right before she couldn’t contain her laughter anymore and burst into a giddy belly-laugh. Whenever Rachel looked like that-- which was a lot, Quinn always thought of Peter Pan from the book, not the movies-- little, defiant, triumphant with tiny little teeth and a big, boisterous personality and big laugh to scare away all the monsters. Rachel had once softly confessed to her with a full-blush that _Peter Pan, Or the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up_ was one of her favorite books growing up because she was motherless, too. Ever since then, Quinn re-read the book at least once a year, just to make sure she kept up with all of Rachel’s favorite things.

“Yes,” she said, nodding emphatically. “We’ll just have to die at the same time which would leave the _world_ our bereft widows and widowers.”

Quinn smiled and took Rachel by the hand. “Follow me to the bedroom?”

“Okay, just let me get my ring and--”

“Leave it for now. If you still want it later, you can have it.”

Rachel blinked. “Why wouldn’t I want it?” she asked, even as she allowed herself to be pulled toward the bedroom.

Once inside, Quinn smiled.”I still have that question for you.”

Rachel blushed. “Oh! Right! Of course. Well, we’ve already ruled out the mathematical.”

Quinn grinned. “Right,” she said, sitting Rachel down on the bed. Once doing so, she walked to her dresser where she’d stored the ring.

Rachel visibly brightened. “Is it sexual?”

Quinn turned around and scowled. “Rachel!”

“What?” Rachel asked innocently. “I have needs and we are in a committed relationship. I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to vocalize my sexual needs to my partner. And this morning when _you_ said that everyone needs a good ass fuc--”

Quinn grabbed the ring, clenched it in her right fist and spun around quickly. She threw her hands in the air, making sure her right one stayed closed. “Okay!” she said, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she remembered what she told her girlfriend and possibly soon-to-be wife that morning. “I remember!”

“I’m just pointing out that when you wanted me on all fours to fuck my ass with a strap-on, I willingly complied even as I pointed out to you that not _everyone_ needs a good ass fucking now and then.”

Quinn was crimson with embarrassment. “I hate you,” she said, covering her face with her left hand and groaning. It may have just been the two of them, but she was occasionally mortified when Rachel very matter-of-factly recounted their sexual exploits. With her left hand still covering her mortified face (could she ever show it again?) she stuck out her right hand. “Want to marry me and be my wife?” she asked, not even really looking because she was still mortified.

There was complete silence in the room. It was like all the air was sucked out. Quinn ventured a peek by opening one eye and looked at Rachel who was staring at her, open mouthed and big-eyed.

“Quinn Fabray, that was the worst proposal I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, but the ring is really pretty,” Quinn joked.

Rachel snorted, but took the ring box anyway, opened the box and stared at the ring, a slow smile spreading across her face. “It is really pretty,” she conceded. “But that was still the worst proposal ever.”

“I still hate you.”

“You weren’t saying that when you were fucking me from behind and pulling my hair.”

“We all have cravings, Rachel.”

Rachel grinned. “That was still the worst proposal I’ve ever heard,” she teased.

“Well, how many times has someone asked you to marry them?”

“Thirty two.”

Quinn stared at her. “What?”

“Granted thirty of those times has been shouted at me by fans, but still. And we’re just talking more intimate settings, not when I’m on stage and people will shout that at me. If we’re counting that, it’s more”

Quinn made a face. “What about the other two?”

“Jacob Ben Israel, in kindergarten and again in fifth grade and again senior year. By the way, I’m only counting him once.”

Quinn made a face. “You’re saying he proposed better than I did?”

“It was certainly more ceremonious.”

“Jacob Ben Israel shouldn’t count for anything other than the Census, and even then I’m not so sure.”

Rachel laughed. “And the other time was my college boyfriend, Isaac. Remember him?”

Quinn made a face. “How could I forget?”

Rachel had only been twenty when she and Isaac broke up. Quinn couldn’t believe the moron thought that was a good time to propose.

Rachel smiled. “Oh, baby. You know I left him for you. I only want to be with you.”

“Don’t break out into song, Berry. This is my proposal.”

“Then please, by all means. Proceed, Fabray.”

Quinn took a deep breath. “Okay, look. I didn’t really prepare anything because everything I thought of was just too over-the-top and _we’re_ not like that. Things between us are good. They’re simple and they’re easy. I love you. You love me.” She paused at the fleeting look on Rachel’s face. “You’re thinking of Barney now, aren’t you?”

“No!” Rachel denied, cheeks red.

“Rachel.”

“Okay, yes. But I really loved Barney when I was growing up. I mean, he’s purple and my favorite flavor is grape.”

Quinn sighed. “Fine. Anyway. I just…I know you’re it for me, Rachel. And can’t we just…be together and be in love and just…” she cleared her throat. “Be married while we’re doing it?”

Rachel smiled. “Marrying you has been a part of my life plan for the last three years.”

Quinn smiled back. “I know this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this question. But it’s the first time I’ve asked anyone. So,” she said softly. “Will you marry me?”

Rachel was still holding the ring box and had yet to pull the ring out. “You know, I wear that other ring just for good luck.” She laughed softly. “Superstitious actress stuff,” she said wryly. She slipped the ring out of the box and put it on. She held her hand out to admire the ring on her finger. “But this is better,” she said with a small laugh. She beamed at Quinn. “Of course I’ll marry you.” She smiled. “Let’s take a shower,” she murmured suggestively, “get dressed and take you ring shopping. An engagement ring is a metaphor and metaphors are important.”

Quinn smiled. “Of the promise of eternal love?” she teased.

Rachel snorted. “A metaphor for ‘mine.’”

\--

_Getting married_

When Rachel made her life plans, marriage definitely factored in, but it wasn’t the main attraction in her life plan book. She had the number of awards she wanted to win before she turned thirty (eight), the shows she wanted to be in, the sale records she wanted to break, the radio and TV talk shows she wanted to be interviewed on, but marriage…well, marriage was just less important to her. Her career was meticulously planned out and she’d always known she wanted to be in love and have a relationship. But the actual wedding wasn’t something she spent that much time planning because she was too busy writing out her acceptance speeches to the Emmy, Tony, Oscar and Grammy.

When she was five, she pictured herself marrying Prince Eric from _The Little Mermaid_ , but mainly because he clearly appreciated a woman who could sing since he mostly seemed pretty dull except when he was in a rowboat declaring his love for a woman.

So the wedding was not something that was all that important to Rachel, despite what everyone else might have thought.

Quinn, however, had been the type of little girl to meticulously plan out her wedding and she had a wedding book since she was ten years old.

This meant that at twenty -four, newly engaged with a year to plan a wedding, Quinn Fabray turned into everyone’s worst nightmare.

Quinn Fabray became…Bridezilla.

\--

Rachel received the call at 4pm on a Wednesday, ten months away from the wedding date they set.

It was from Santana, Quinn’s chosen maid of honor.

Rachel wasn’t thrilled with Santana’s presence in her life. Santana, at twenty four was a slightly less vicious version of the bitchy girl she’d been in high school. But she was still a bitch and Rachel did not like her. But the girl was still Quinn’s best friend and so Rachel answered the phone.

“Hello Santana.”

“Your woman wants three bachelorette parties. She wants one of them in Hawaii! Not everyone is going to be able to afford to go!”

“So tell her ‘no,’” Rachel said. “You usually have no problem saying no to her.”

“I’m the maid of honor,” Santana said grudgingly. “And Brittany said if I don’t play nice, I’ll have to help myself out in the bedroom. I’m not above rubbing one out on myself, Berry, but my girlfriend is _hot_ and why should I have to?”

Rachel made a face and wished she could vomit, but she still had no gag reflex which had made her pretty popular in college before she got together with Quinn, but right now she cursed it. “Santana Lopez, you are Quinn’s maid of honor and I know if you were the one getting married, she would comply with each and every one of your outlandish and unreasonable demands. So you _make_ my future wife happy or else.”

“Berry! She wants _three_ bachelorette parties. One here, one in Vegas and one in Hawaii. I talked her out of the one she wanted to throw in Costa Rica. You know that she wants to get her wedding dress specially designed, don’t you?”

Rachel felt vaguely ill, because she was, in fact, completely aware of all Quinn’s demands and she knew they’d be paying for this wedding out the yin-yang for years to come. But she also knew that both she and Quinn worked hard for their money and they were both in financial situations where they could afford to be ostentatious with their wedding and not have it totally break the bank. They could afford this.

Still, she thought it was a bad sign if the maid of honor murdered the bride and Santana wasn’t known for her appropriate coping skills as it related to anger management.

“I’ll talk to her,” Rachel said with a smile.

“Thank God!”

\--

It was worse than Rachel thought. The cute little wedding book Quinn started when she was ten years old had now expanded to four different volumes and it was growing daily. Rachel wondered if this was how other people felt about her and her tendency for meticulous over-planning.

It’s not that Rachel didn’t care about their wedding-- she did. She wanted it to be perfect, too. It was just that she had less attachment to an ideal of a wedding than Quinn did. Quinn had been planning hers since she was a kid and had a specific vision, the way Rachel had planned her future of stardom and had a specific vision of her career.

But Quinn’s intensity was a little…frightening. The color-coded rankings of menu items, the daily changing rankings of bakeries, the color samples for the wedding themes-- it was very, very overwhelming. And Quinn was very, very scary when she made her demands.

They had a few mutual friends who were all invited to the bachelorette parties who pleaded for her intervention. Santana actually _cried_ from frustration.

“Honey,” Rachel said to Quinn one day, aiming for diplomacy, but then deciding to stuff it, because she and Quinn were never ‘diplomatic’ with one another, they kept it real. “You’re scaring everyone. They’re afraid if they don’t meet your expectations, you’ll eat them. ”

Quinn stared at her. Rachel stared back.

“Want to make out?” Quinn asked after a moment of silence.

Rachel contemplated this. She knew she should be advocating on behalf of everyone else, but despite all of Quinn’s allegedly Bridezilla demands, Rachel didn’t think it was that bad. After all, it’s not like Quinn was denigrating people, stealing or demanding free stuff like those women on that horrifying TV program. Quinn just knew what she wanted and asked for it.

Rachel decided everyone was on their own, because part of the joy of marrying a person was knowing that for the rest of their lives, it would just be her and Quinn against the world. It might as well start now, even when Quinn was being a smidge unreasonable.

“Okay,” Rachel agreed happily.

Quinn grinned and reached for her and when their lips met, Rachel knew she’d love Quinn even when the blonde was crazy.

\--

It was strange, because typically people tended to get more crazed as the day of their wedding loomed closer. But Rachel and Quinn became increasingly calmer.

The night before the wedding, Quinn glanced around her apartment to see Brittany and Santana snuggled together on the couch, Mercedes in an easy chair and Kate and Sarah, two of Rachel’s bridesmaids on the other couch. A few other girlfriends were milling around on the floor and other chairs borrowed from the dining room. But Rachel and her maid of honor, Svetlana, were nowhere to be seen.

Svetlana looked _exactly_ like a girl called Svetlana should look like, and though Quinn was secure in her relationship, she still felt compelled to stand up and look for Rachel.

She tried the balcony first and found Rachel and Svetlana lounging around on the futon couch they kept out there. Rachel was blissfully intoxicated and drinking wine straight from the bottle. There was a small radio set to the oldies station on the floor beside the couch.

“Hey,” Quinn greeted.

Rachel and Svetlana flashed her drunk smiles.

“Hey,” Svetlana said. She slapped Rachel on the thigh and stood up. “I’m going to go inside.”

Once she was gone, Quinn sat down next to Rachel and grinned when Rachel immediately cuddled into her.

“Hi Quinn.”

“Hi Rachel.”

“I just needed some space,” Rachel explained. “I hope you didn’t think I was abandoning you.”

“I didn’t think you were abandoning me. I just missed you.”

Rachel sang along softly to the song until it ended and the station cut to commercials. “Are you going to come on that surfing safari with me?” she teased. She thought it was hilarious that the song they were cuddling to was ‘Surfin’ Safari,’ but she didn’t control the radio stations, even if she wished she did.

Quinn laughed. “I’d go anywhere with you. If you don’t know that by now…”

“Of course I know.”

They sat in silence for a while until the commercials ended and the new set of songs began to play over the radio.

“I can’t listen to this song without thinking of Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey,” Rachel commented. She grinned at Quinn. “’Hey hey baby, I wanna know if you’ll be my girl,’” she sang softly.

Quinn grinned back. “Tomorrow you’ll be my girl forever, you know.”

“I do know.”

“You could have just said ‘I know,’ you know,” Quinn said.

“I’m just practicing saying ‘I do,’ baby.”

“Ooh, baby. I love your way,” Quinn murmured, singing the song apropos of nothing because it wasn’t even playing. But she’d thought about that song a lot in the past few days. It w as cheesy, but it suited them.

Rachel laughed. “I love your way, too.”

As if on cue, ‘Hey Baby’ by Bruce Channel ended and Peter Frampton’s ‘Baby, I Love Your Way’ began to play on the radio.

They looked at one another.

“Did you plan this?” Quinn asked suspiciously.

“No! Did you?”

“No!”

They both laughed and Quinn pulled the bottle of wine from Rachel and took a big swig. She set it on the ground and stood up. She held out her hand. “Dance with me.”

Rachel smiled and took Quinn’s hand, allowing herself to be pulled up.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to have our first dance as a married couple in front of everyone,” Rachel murmured. “But tonight, this is just for us. Because we’re already as married as two people are going to be, right?”

“Right,” Quinn murmured.

♪ ♫ ♪ Ooh baby I love your way. Everyday. Want to tell you I love you way. Want to be with you night and day. ♪ ♫ ♪

They sang along quietly as they pressed together and swayed to the music. They stayed that way long after the song ended and gave way to less romantic songs and even less romantic advertisements.

\--

The next day, Quinn took her wife’s warm hand in hers and ran out of the church with friends and family throwing rice at them and doves being released into the air as they ran toward the awaiting limo with the ‘Just Married’ sign on the back. She had exactly the wedding she envisioned when she was just a kid. It was cheesy and cliché and possibly even a little dumb, but the heart wants what it wants.

She never thought she’d be marrying a woman, and she certainly never thought she’d marry _Rachel Berry_ when she was a ten year old tormenting the other girl, but here she was laughing as she ran with her wife’s hand in hers. Soon they would be together with their wedding guests again at the reception hall. But for now, it was just her and her new wife in the back of limo that came equipped with a privacy screen that could roll up to separate them from the driver.

At twenty-five, her life was completely different from what she thought it would be when she was five or even fifteen. It was so much better than she ever thought it could be and she was so much happier than she ever felt was possible.

She never really felt like she deserved to be happy. She grew up feeling not quite good enough for anything or anyone. She never felt like a good enough daughter or sister, never felt like she was good enough to be captain of the Cheerios or valedictorian of the school. She never felt like she was good enough to get into NYU and was surprised when she got in. Even when she really felt like she had a shot of getting out of Lima, she didn’t think she actually _deserved_ to get out. When she was a kid, she could almost picture the future she deserved to have-- getting fat and ugly in a depressing, repressive small town and she’d marry some kind, hardworking blue collar man who would grow to resent her because he’d sense she never really loved him. They’d drink away their paychecks in dive bars with sawdust on the floors through their early 20s before she’d get pregnant, possibly unexpectedly and they’d both be loving, doting parents who’d still end up setting shitty examples for their kids when it came romance and love. She and this could-have-been husband would have been resented by these might-have-been children and she would have wondered daily about what her life could have been like if she’d just been a little different, maybe a little braver.

But now she didn’t have to wonder what it would have been like to be a little braver.

The best thing she ever did for herself was to leave Lima, because it made all these other things possible-- this limo ride on her wedding day on the way to the hotel they booked for their reception with this beautiful woman curled up next to her, gently pressing kisses to her neck and whispering I love you. The one who worked so damn hard to make sure she could have the wedding she’d always dreamed about.

When Quinn made her wedding book when she was a kid with all the details of the champagne and chocolate fountains, the sumptuous food, the completely coordinated ensembles, the meticulous tableware and centerpieces, she never really thought she’d have any of it. She always thought it was a little out of reach, and she could just hold onto the dream. Okay, sure, so a penguin army wasn’t serving the food, but even when she was ten, she knew it was a pretty unreasonable desire, it was just that she’d watched _Happy Feet_ too much.

If she could go back in time and talk to her younger self, she’d tell that girl to stop being such an asshole to her future wife. But mostly, she’d tell the younger version of herself to stop making other people miserable just because she was so unhappy because happiness was waiting and not all that far away. She just had to be patient and wait for it,

“Hey beautiful,” Rachel murmured, calling for her attention. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about how getting married is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing and how glad I am that today went so perfectly since I’m only going to do this once.”

“Marriage isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” Rachel said, always the one who had to rain on the parade. “Many people get married more than once.”

“But not us,” Quinn reminded.

Rachel grinned. “No, not us,” she agreed. “I’m a one woman kind of gal, you know.”  
  
Quinn laughed softly. “I know.”

With her left hand, Rachel reached across Quinn’s lap for Quinn’s left hand and entwined their hands.

“See these rings?” she murmured.

Quinn nodded mutely.

“They’re a metaphor for eternity and the heart, and metaphors are important. Granted these rings were exorbitantly expensive and I’m quite fond of them, so if they were ever lost or stolen, I’d be quite frustrated. But they’re an imperfect metaphor for what you and I have.” Rachel smiled at her. “I wasn’t kidding when I said for better or worse today, baby. When it comes to you and me…” Rachel’s voice caught.

Quinn squeezed Rachel’s hand. “I know,” she murmured. She gave Rachel a small smile that grew wider when Rachel smiled back.

They’d both been crying messes through the wedding. They’d have to have the make-up artist they hired specifically for the wedding, touch them up before they took any more pictures.

There was a particularly loud honk behind them. That had been happening the entire trip as people honked in support when they caught sight of the ‘Just Married’ sign on the back of the limo. They smiled at one another and Rachel pulled her hand away, rolled down the window and cupped her hands around her mouth, megaphone style, to shriek “I JUST GOT MARRIED” as loudly as she could (which was pretty loud) out the window.

Quinn laughed. She shook her head when Rachel turned back to her, head thrown back and laughing, hands now clutched to her chest. The blonde shrugged, rolled down the window and shouted “I JUST GOT MARRIED” as loudly as she could out the window.

Rachel laughed.

“I JUST GOT MARRIED.”

“I JUST GOT MARRIED.”

People honked in response and some pedestrians stopped to stare, clearly thinking they were insane. But neither of them cared. They shouted it for the world to hear until their throats hurt, and then they rolled up their windows, collapsed into one another and laughed.

\--

“All right, Bridezilla,” Rachel said cheerfully when they got to the hotel. “Let’s just get drunk and enjoy the reception.”

Quinn blushed. “Was I really Bridezilla?”

“Yes,” Rachel said with a grin. “But it was cute rather than horrifying which only you could pull off.”

The limo driver opened the door for them and Rachel got out first, extending her hand to Quinn. “Ready to start our lives as a married couple?”

Quinn took her hand. “I’m a one woman gal,” she teased, parroting Rachel’s words.

Rachel grinned. “Let’s go. We’re starting our lives together today, in an official sort of way anyway.”

Quinn smiled. She was ready.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> http://sulkygeekff.livejournal.com/71398.html


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